


Cherry Blossom Bonfire (2/2)

by aridseas



Series: Cherry Blossom Bonfire [2]
Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Angst, Childhood Friends, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-16 23:17:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8121445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aridseas/pseuds/aridseas
Summary: Masaki and Jun are two young men unfortunate enough to be born into a place where only women of the Shogun are allowed to reside. Raised from birth to be female to avoid detection and certain death, they simply wanted to pass each day peacefully at the Ooku, but a chance encounter with Sakurai Sho turns their little world upside down.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Birthday present for a dear friend of mine. ♥ It's recommended to listen to Hana Kagari by Shizukusa Yumi while reading this (especially towards the end), as that song was the inspiration behind this entire idea, and also to which the lyrics found throughout the fic belongs to (translated by Megchan). Please enjoy!

A subdued silence settled upon the room once Jun was done speaking, broken only by Masaki's soft, rapid exhalations as he continued to slumber, blissfully oblivious to the gravity of the conversation going on around him. It dragged on with every flicker of the additional candles Jun had lit as if the dancing shadows on the walls represented each unspoken word in what was possibly the longest, most agonizing wait Jun had ever sat through.

Unable to stand it any longer, he let out a cough and gestured slightly at Masaki's prone form. "When did you realize? That he was male."

"When I held him in my arms." The difference in his eyes when Sakurai looked down did not pass by unnoticed, nor did his quiet murmur to himself. "It is a shame he was not born female..."

"And that is supposed to make all the difference in the world?" Jun asked sharply. Sakurai might have seen through their lifelong facade in a few short hours, but he was by no means a fool either; the man had feelings for Masaki, however superficial they may be. It agitated him all the more for reasons he refused to analyze, not when he had a much easier target to direct his anger towards. If they were already all but sentenced to certain death, what did a few acidic remarks matter? "Will you be reporting us to the Shogun now, because the girl you had been so taken with all through the banquet turned out to be of the same sex?"

It was with extreme satisfaction that he watched Sakurai's face contort with surprise for the first time all night. He had to struggle not to sneer as he gave a small snort of derision. "Did you think you were hiding it well? Anyone with eyes could see that you were smitten with Masaki."

Sakurai stared at him a moment longer, long enough for Jun to recognize with a start that he was beginning to look at him with respect in his eyes. "The Shogun will not hear about this," he promised solemnly. "I know as well as you what the consequences will be if your true identities were to be revealed." He paused. "The lengths you have gone to protect him are admirable."

Jun's brows snapped together in a scowl. "You're talking about two completely different things," he said gruffly. It was amazing how much his behavior changed with their secret out in the open. Perhaps for the first time ever, he was finally able to act like a man— not a loyal servant from the Ooku, not a docile young woman, not even the playful boy he often became around Masaki. He folded his arms now as he regarded Sakurai with distrust. "Out with it already. What is it do you want in exchange?"

"An intelligence one would expect of someone born from the Shogun's seed," Sakurai acknowledged rather than reply right away in a maddening fashion which Jun was rapidly becoming familiar with. He raised a hand and touched Masaki's cheek again, turning a blind eye to Jun's glower as he stroke lightly at the unblemished skin. "He looks even more beautiful without makeup."

Another equally frustrating habit Sakurai had, Jun was beginning to find, was giving purposely cryptic answers. He clenched his jaw and made a silent plea for patience before tilting his head slightly in agreement. Two could play at that game, after all. "And?"

Sakurai's gaze came to a rest upon the pale lips that had previously been hidden behind bold lipstick. "One night."

"Never." Jun's refusal was instantaneous, out of his mouth before he even fully processed the full insinuation behind his words. His hands were curling into fists beneath his robes as he struggled to stay calm.

"One night alone for two lives spared is hardly an unreasonable offer," Sakurai noted as his thumb ghosted over Masaki's bottom lip before drawing it away. "You can't even be certain I will do anything to him."

"Did all your convoluted double-entendres trip you up in the head or something? He's a _man_!" Jun burst out finally, leveling a glare of contempt at the man sitting amicably across from him. "Surely a great doctor like you would know what that means?"

"One night," Sakurai repeated simply. _Take it or leave it_ , his eyes added further.

Jun would not have been surprised if his neck had snapped audibly from the force with which he turned away with. The lecherous man and his despicable offer angered him so much he was almost shaking, but prevailing over that was an even more overwhelming sense of disappointment at his own incompetence and inability to do anything to save Masaki.

A light cough broke their standstill as the figure lying between them stirred. Both men looked immediately to the source, concern for Masaki overriding their differences for the moment as they saw to Masaki first— at least in that they were of the same mind, Jun thought dryly. Among other things... he brushed that stray thought away with a wince as he touched his fingers to Masaki's jaw, silently urging him to look his way. Relief flooded him to see the clarity in Masaki's eyes as he blinked blearily in the light. "Masaki?"

"How do you feel?" Sakurai interrupted, redirecting Masaki's attention his way as he steadied Masaki's head with one hand and gently lifted first one eyelid, then the other.

"What..." Masaki began, staring up at Sakurai in bewilderment as he pressed a palm to the futon he laid upon to push himself up. Jun recognized the movement immediately and quickly reached out to press him back down against the floor.

"Don't get up," he admonished softly, glancing at Sakurai as he pointedly added, "You need to rest."

He was certain Sakurai had caught the underlying meaning in his words, but the man looked back at him with bland features, as if Jun had said nothing out of the ordinary. He would have continued staring Sakurai down if Masaki hadn't tugged plaintively at his sleeve, a lost expression on his pale face. "Jun? What's going on?"

"You collapsed during dinner," Jun explained carefully, omitting much of the actual events in favor of reassuring the shaken young man before him. The full details could always come later, when he was fully recovered from the ordeal. Catching Masaki's furtive glance at Sakurai, Jun grudgingly answered his silent question, "And this is Sakurai-sama, the one who saved your life."

Masaki looked from one to the other, brow furrowing in confusion that released suddenly as he scrambled anew to sit up, alarm flooding his face now as he no doubt struggled with the same emotions that had run through Jun not long ago. "The banquet—! My lord—"

"Listen to your friend and lay back down," Sakurai chided, suddenly all smiles and good intentions again as he held out a hand and halted Masaki's attempt to free himself of his blankets. "Jun was just about to leave the room so you can rest in peace." Jun had wanted to slap that look of contrived kindness off his face, but if he had thought that was already aggravating enough, what Sakurai said next roused the most violent rage Jun had ever experienced in his entire life. He almost wished there was a table around so he could flip it over.

Masaki didn't seem to believe his words either, his eyes immediately sliding over towards him, wide and questioning. Jun closed his eyes briefly as he steeled himself for what he was about to do. They were filled with as much reassurance as he could muster when he looked at Masaki again, cloaking over the twisting pain in his chest as he managed a soft smile and a nod. "Sakurai-sama is highly skilled in the craft which he practices," he said in a voice he could barely recognize as his own, "I trust him enough to leave you in his care."

"But where will you stay...?" Masaki's fingers remained curled around his sleeve, an ineffectual effort to stop Jun from leaving but nevertheless a small comfort to him.

"There are several empty rooms in this wing of the castle that I can spend the night in," Jun pointed out, allowing himself one last, tender touch of his fingers to Masaki's forehead before working his arm gently from his grip and standing up. "I will be back by day break," he informed Sakurai stiffly as he retrieved his belongings— he didn't need much beyond his own blanket and headrest which he rolled up carefully together for easier transport. He studiously avoided letting his gaze stray towards Masaki again, partially out of fear that he may change his mind if he looked at him one last time, and partially out of feelings of guilt that threatened to suffocate him if he was to stay in the room any longer. He paused at the doorway, a hand on the frame as he bit his lip and fought down one last, impulsive desire to blurt out the truth. "...goodnight, Masaki."

Jun slid the door closed and leaned back against it for a moment, the voices in the room soft and too muffled to make out. Just as well that he couldn't hear anything, because Sakurai had begun to speak again and Jun was no longer interested in what he had to say. He didn't know how long he stood there in the hallway before he moved, motivated purely by the fact that a night watch would soon make her rounds through the halls.

His steps towards the closest free room he could think of were slow and heavy, the weight of his actions seemingly manifesting on his shoulders. Had he really chosen the lesser of two evils by handing Masaki over to Sakurai to do as he liked? Were they perhaps better off simply letting Sakurai report them to the Shogun? But Yukari - his surrogate mother, as close to a real one as he could ever hope to have - would not escape punishment, and her heart would no doubt break if anything was to happen to Masaki. What, really, was the best decision he could have made?

But now it was too late; he had left a helpless Masaki alone in a room with Sakurai for the rest of the night, who would no doubt take advantage of that fact if the way his greedy eyes had raked over the other man had been any indication. A man with status and power, a man free to touch and kiss and have his way with Masaki however he wanted. A man who was everything he wasn't...

Thoughts continued to swirl in his mind as he laid out a futon in a corner of the empty room and wrapped himself up in the blanket that carried a mild hint of Masaki's scent— normally something that never failed to calm him, but now it only brought hot, stinging tears to his eyes. He buried his face in the soft cotton in a bid to stop them from falling, to no avail. He wouldn't remember when he finally stopped crying or fell asleep, only of a single prevailing thought that would likely continue to haunt him even in his dreams:

He would never run out of apologies for the man he could never love as anything more than a brother.

* * *

Sakurai was gone by the time Masaki woke up the next morning. The sight that greeted him instead was Jun, the very picture of concern as he knelt beside him with a large bowl of faintly steaming water. Too tired to examine the strange twinge of disappointment that was tugging at him, Masaki directed a sleepy smile up at him as he raised his arms and stretched gingerly. "Morning."

"How do you feel?" Jun inquired, getting straight to the point as he dipped a soft cloth into the water and wrung it dry. "Was he—" He cut himself off suddenly, plainly unwilling to continue down that particular path of conversation. Shaking the cloth free of excess water, he turned to Masaki and drew aside the covers to reveal red marks that stood out plainly against the previously unmarred skin on his neck and bare torso.

"Jun?" Masaki ventured when Jun fell silent, watching his jaw set stubbornly the way it usually did whenever he was angry about something.

"Did it hurt?" Jun asked instead, his hands gentle as he raised Masaki's arm and began wiping at it carefully, starting first with the distinctive birthmark that decorated his shoulder and much of his upper arm. Sakurai had been particularly interested in it, a sudden flash of memory that made Masaki flush slightly in embarrassment.

"...yes." Though tempted to lie, he knew Jun would see through it easily, like all the other ones he had ever attempted to make, however insignificant they had been. He didn't miss the slight twitch that disrupted the slow, smooth strokes of his hand at his honest admission. Those words were coming soon, he knew, from the way Jun was bracing his shoulders, the deep breath he was taking to steady himself. He raised a hand and covered Jun's with it, stilling his movements and prompting him to look up at him.

"Don't apologize. You did nothing wrong, really." Masaki met his eyes squarely and continued with a soft smile of reassurance, "I did it because I wanted to." He missed the look of disbelief that flitted across Jun's face as he sat up with a wince. He was quickly aided by a pair of hands on his arm, steadying him until he was able to sit upright without support. "No one ever told me I would feel this sore afterward," Masaki joked in an attempt to make Jun smile.

Not only did it fail, Jun's face darkened a few shades at his words. "So he treated you badly after all?"

"No!" Masaki said emphatically, startling both Jun and himself into silence with the force of his denial. "It wasn't like that," he added awkwardly, his voice small. "We just... talked. A lot."

"I'm sure you talked a lot," Jun snorted disdainfully as he dipped the cloth back into the hot water and circled around to kneel behind Masaki, scrubbing lightly at his back like he used to so many times before. "I'm sure that was the real reason why he wanted to be alone with you."

"Jun—" Masaki never got to finish his sentence. Strong arms wrapped around him from behind without any warning, startling a cry of surprise out of him as he fell forward slightly from the added weight of another body pressed tightly against his back. Whatever rebuke that was about to leave his lips died away as he registered the imperceptible trembling in the arms that were hugging him tightly around his front. He reached up hesitantly to touch Jun with one hand. "What is it...?"

"I won't let this happen to you ever again," came the fierce reply close to his ear after a long pause. "I promise with everything I have. I promise you."

It elicited a smile from Masaki as his hand gripped Jun's arm more firmly, squeezing it affectionately in hopes of easing the guilt Jun must be feeling over his decision last night. He would rather it happen to him ten, fifteen times over again, he wanted to say, if it could keep Jun out of harm's way; giving up his body for one night meant nothing if he could save Jun's life by doing so. But he voiced none of his thoughts out loud, rubbing comfortingly instead at Jun's arm until he finally began to calm down.

While undeniably moved by Jun's attentiveness, embarrassment soon prompted him to shoo the younger man out of the room so he could tend to his body on his own. "I'll tell Yukari-san that you're awake and well," Jun agreed reluctantly as he released Masaki and stood up. "I'll bring you something to eat too, you must be starving."

It wasn't until he was sure the door had been shut firmly behind Jun that Masaki raised the blankets up, rummaging around the futon until his hand touched upon and drew out a small cloth pouch from amidst the folds. Masaki raised it up for inspection, quietly running his fingers over the intricate embroidery on its front. It was a simple amulet to ward off bad luck and bring good health, the only thing tangible Sakurai had left behind besides the marks on his body. Memories of the man with whom he'd shared a bed with the night before made him flush again.

He was not a fool; with the way the two men had interacted and Jun's own unnatural behavior taken into account, it didn't take long for him to make the connections and formulate a guess.

Sakurai knew that they were both men.

His suspicions were confirmed soon after Jun had left the room. But he really had not ripped his clothing off the moment Jun was gone, like he seemed so convinced about; in a low, calming voice as he stripped and stretched out on the futon beside Masaki, Sakurai had explained the deal he had struck with with Jun, allowing him time to digest it fully. Masaki had not panicked in turn, perhaps too weakened by the botched poisoning attempt to be scared; he was curious, he wanted to know— why him? Why these conditions in exchange for keeping their secret? And who was he, where did he come from, what was he going to do after it was all over? Sakurai dutifully answered each question asked of him, humoring Masaki until he felt ready for what Sakurai wanted. Still, he felt the need to clarify something before Sakurai had his way with him, something he had to say no matter what.

"I'll do this," Masaki had informed him honestly, "But my willingness has nothing to do with you."

When Masaki cast his eyes down and brought his hands up to the front of his robes, Sakurai had reached out and gripped his arm lightly, responding with earnestness of his own that could not be feigned: "This may seem inconsequential to you, or empty words in an attempt to entice you into becoming a more compliant partner, but I also feel the need to tell you this."

 _You have my respect_ , he had continued, _you and Jun both._

It was then, that one decisive instant, that had spurred Masaki into kissing Sakurai first.

A delusion or not, a lie or not, it touched him that a prominent male figure like himself would openly admire two lowly deceivers like him and Jun. He felt important, wanted even, and not only for his body like Sakurai had readily admitted from the beginning. Even if it was only for a night, there was an illusion of equality, as if the two of them were on the same footing, and he was no less of a human than Sakurai was.

And Sakurai had treated him like he was one. He had been much more gentle than Masaki had initially expected. For all that he had no sexual experience to his name, he knew instinctively that the ordeal could have been much more painful than it had been. Blood had flowed, yes, but he had seemed genuinely apologetic about it. Throughout it all, Sakurai had been attentive, careful, and even saw to Masaki's needs once his own were seen to.

But the magic of the night had faded away with the rising of the sun, and Sakurai, true to his words, was nowhere to be found. All Masaki had left was the charm Sakurai had given him after the deed with gentle teasing about his extraordinary bad luck with health. Reality settled heavily upon him now, reminding him with every mark and every jolt of pain that raced through him when he attempted to move. Without warning, the first waves of the feeling he quickly recognized as shame began to wash over him.

He had done this for Jun, Masaki had to remind himself firmly. No matter how shameful his behavior had been last night as he laid beneath Sakurai and cried out with every thrust, it was all to save the life of his half-brother. He was just a servant whom Sakurai had taken a liking to, who bought into his kind attitude and warm words. Sakurai was just a visiting guest, part of an envoy that would leave soon afterward, whose interests had not extended much beyond those of the carnal variety.

There had been no feelings involved, none at all.

With one last squeeze, Masaki put the amulet aside carefully and got up to retrieve the cloth which Jun had flung haphazardly to the side when he had embraced him. It wouldn't be long before Jun returned with a tray of food, and his mother was likely to accompany him as well; it wouldn't do to let either of them see the remnants from the night before.

* * *

In the blink of an eye, the cool, wintry season had given way to warmer weather and budding greenery. Spring was settling in to stay, and while that also signified the imminent onset of light rain for at least a month or so to come, it also meant the flower viewing season, Masaki's favorite time of the year, would be upon them in no time as well.

The poisoning attempt was far from everyone's minds at the Ooku, as was Michiko, who had confessed to slipping the poison into Jun's food the next day. She hadn't meant to hurt Masaki, she had sobbed, but her repentance made little difference to the punishment meted out by the elders. No pleading on Masaki's part prevented her expulsion from the Ooku, but at least she was spared from death— a retribution which, Jun personally thought, was far too light.

Masaki seemed none the worse for the wear as time wore on. While he had mild difficulties walking the morning after, and the marks on his body took over a week to fade completely, he did not appear to be bothered at all, let alone traumatized by his experience. He still smiled and joked with the other servants, still saw to his duties like he always had, and still treated Jun normally as if his betrayal had never happened.

But Jun saw through his flimsy facades easily. What Masaki could hide from the majority of their friends - perhaps even from Yukari, his birth mother - he could never hide from someone who had grown up with him and memorized his name before he could even recognize his own.

The brush which Jun had been running absently through his hair slowed to a stop midstroke as he glanced sideways at Masaki.

More and more often, he would catch Masaki gazing off to the distance, losing himself in his own thoughts with an unreadable look in his eyes that revealed nothing. And despite his best efforts to keep it hidden in the folds of his kimonos, Jun knew about the protection charm he wore on his body at all times, never seen before until the night of the banquet. Whether Masaki realized it himself or not, he had changed.

"Masaki?" He prompted quietly, and was rewarded with a slight start as Masaki's eyes slid away from the mirror before him to heed the call of his name.

"Hm?" Masaki set down his brush and turned to face him. "Do you want me to style your hair for you today, Jun?"

He didn't, but he nodded anyway, fixing his eyes on their reflections in the mirror as he watched Masaki gather his hair into his hands with care, his eyes half-lidded and distant.

It pained him how affected Masaki was by the devious man who had all but blackmailed his way into non-consensual intercourse with him, all the more so because the way he was acting was alarmingly similar to the way lovestruck girls would long for the lovers they had to part with in those tales of doomed romance they were required to read. It had only been one short night, but his time with Sakurai left invisible scars on Masaki that might never fully heal.

"Are you excited about the outing today?" Jun asked, mostly for the sake of starting up a conversation to fill the silence rather than actual interest in hearing the answer; he knew even before Masaki even opened his mouth what he was going to say anyway.

"Of course," Masaki responded as he picked out a hair ornament from the selection laid out on the table. "We only get to go once a year, after all. Why wouldn't I be excited?"

 _Because you don't look like you are at all_ , Jun almost blurted out. Instead, he directed a smile at Masaki's reflection. "That's true. And you'll get to see the cherry blossoms too, while we're out."

"Yeah." The deliberate mention finally drew a genuine smile out of Masaki, but it was still lacking in the enthusiasm it had once carried. He adjusted the ornament in Jun's hair one last time. "There. How does that look?"

Jun gave his hair a cursory glance as he reached for his money pouch. "It looks good. Shall we go and meet up with the others, then? Have you got everything?" Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Masaki slipping his hand into the sleeve of his kimono with a nod, no doubt to feel at the amulet nestled safely inside. He bit back a sigh as he rose to his feet. "Let's go, then."

While the concubines and servants with the highest statuses were allowed to leave the Ooku with permission from the Shogun himself, lesser ranked servants like himself and Masaki were only allowed leave in extreme circumstances such as a death in the family. They were, however, allowed out a small handful of times a year for sanctioned trips as rewards.

What made this particular day even more special was the fact that it also coincided with Yukari's birthday; the rumor circulating throughout the Ooku was that it was deliberately planned just so as a present from the Shogun. Masaki hadn't seem much bothered about all the speculating about his mother's relationship with the Shogun, but the petty, bitter part of Jun - which he did often tried hard to squash - figured he was likely too hung up over Sakurai to care.

It was a beautiful day for an outing. Though not a large group by any means, their entourage was sizable enough to draw the attention of many as they made their way down the streets; the cherry blossoms that decorated the streets everywhere in a breathtaking spectacle only made their movements all the more eyecatching. But very few had dressed up for the occasion in actuality; not only was it generally frowned upon as they were already property of the Shogun, no one wanted to upstage the kind and well-liked Yukari on anniversary of her birth. Jun and Masaki had started out walking by her side, but with every street merchant they passed by and every stand they paused at to admire the merchandise sold, they lagged behind further and further until the two of them were bringing up the rear. They were just starting to pick up their pace after lingering a touch too long at yet another small jewelry stand when an all too familiar voice from behind halted them both in their tracks.

"Masaki...?"

Jun didn't even bother to look over his shoulder for confirmation. He took Masaki's unresisting arm at once and began tugging him along. "Come on, Masaki," he said loudly for that person's benefit, "We've fallen too far behind. Yukari-san will come looking for us soon."

They had barely taken three steps forward when a figure cut in front of them swiftly, dressed much more simply this time but nevertheless easily discernible as the same man who had turned their world upside down. "Masaki," Sakurai said again as he looked straight at the owner of the arm which Jun was grasping tightly, his eyes filling with the same despicable look that Jun would probably still recognize even if he was nine-tenths blind.

"Come on," Jun repeated tightly as he turned towards Masaki, but the look on his face made him swallow back whatever else he would have said.

"—Sho," Masaki spoke at last, a name Jun wasn't familiar with but knew without a doubt that it belonged to the person standing before them. He blinked suddenly, as if the sound of his own voice had broken the spell somehow, and his eyes widened in surprise. "What are you still doing here? I thought you said you were leaving soon?"

"I stayed behind to learn new cures and techniques from the locals here, and ended up teaching them what I know in return." Sakurai turned a blind eye to Jun's pointed glare as he took a step closer. "And you? What are you doing outside?"

Jun was really starting to feel the first onsets of panic. He did not have a good feeling about the entire situation at all, a steadily escalating sense of foreboding that suggested matters may very well spiral out of control if he allowed Masaki to remain in Sakurai's company for much longer. What happened to his promise to protect Masaki, to never let anything bad happen to him again? Without thinking, his hand tightened its grip on Masaki's arm.

"We..." Masaki had begun to speak, but the firm squeeze made him give pause. He glanced down first, then back up at Jun with a fleeting look of such forlorn yearning in his eyes that Jun could probably convince himself it was a trick of the light if he really tried. "We really should get going," he said heavily instead, studiously avoiding Sakurai's quelling gaze as he started forward.

But he was halted by the same hand that had tried to pull him along. Jun ignored the questioning look directed his way as he continued to look long and hard at Sakurai. "Three hours," he stated flatly. "I want him back at the theater before the play is over."

"Of course." Sakurai's response was as instantaneous as his own had been on the night of the banquet, inclining his head in acknowledgment as he met his eyes squarely. "You'll have Masaki back with you before you know it."

Jun highly doubted it, but it wasn't the time nor the place to start up another argument with the aggravating bastard; he turned to Masaki then, taking his hands in his and squeezing them much more gently this time. "I know you better than you know yourself," he said quietly. "And I know this is what you really want." He released Aiba without another word, ignoring the calls of his name as he brushed past Sakurai - though the accidental bump to his shoulder perhaps might not have been quite accidental after all - and picked up his step in his hurry to catch up to the rest of the group.

It would mark the second time Jun knowingly left the two of them alone and walked away, but all the weight seemed to migrate from his shoulders into his chest this time. The knowledge that Masaki had genuine feelings for Sakurai was of no comfort at all; they belonged to the Shogun, Sakurai was a foreigner, there was no future ahead of them at all. But for every excuse he managed to come up with to condemn their relationship, the myriad of expressions on Masaki's face would surface in his mind again— expressions he had never seen before, and would likely never see them directed his way. That alone had been enough to make him cave in and finally let go of the hands he had held through all the years.

Because no matter how strong his resolve to protect Masaki may be, it would never prevail over the desire to see him happy again.

Jun kept himself busy coming up with an excuse for Masaki's absence as he walked and had one mostly formulated by the time he reached the extravagant kabuki theater and caught sight of the lone figure waiting outside for him, but it was destined to never leave his lips.

Yukari looked at him calmly as he approached, her arms folded daintily against the sash of her kimono. "Masaki... is with him, isn't he?"

Jun opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. "Yes," he replied dully.

* * *

_I'll make a wish on the cherry blossom bonfire  
That you'll tell me you won't leave me alone  
That this warmth in my hand  
Is not a dream_

_Hold me tight, don't ever let me go  
Make me forget everything_

 

If someone had told him even just earlier in the day that he would not only see Sakurai again, but also follow him to the inn where he had taken up temporary residence, Masaki would most likely take it as a joke or check their foreheads for a fever. But here he was, trailing behind Sakurai with his eyes fixed firmly on the pair of feet in front of him as they weaved through deserted alleyways and narrow corridors instead of taking to the main streets. Perhaps even more than himself, Sakurai understood the negative connotations of a woman seen alone with a man out in broad daylight.

Because they both knew, better than anyone else, that they should not even be together to begin with.

And, if Masaki had to be honest with himself, he wasn't sure why he was sneaking off with Sakurai either— yes, that was the right word to use, it was as if they were sneaking off for a clandestine meeting between lovers. But was that really the right term for it? When they had only spent one night together for a bargain on his life and Jun's? When there were no talks of love, no promises of a future together? What was it that spurred him into making such a reckless move?

Masaki didn't know. All he knew was that when Sakurai looked at him and asked him to come along, his feet had complied before his mind even began to react.

It wasn't until they had reached the moderate but comfortably furnished room where Sakurai was staying and closed the door firmly behind them that Sakurai finally turned around and took his hand. Masaki could feel the warmth from their intertwined fingers, traveling up his arm in an oblique reminder that this was real, Sakurai Sho really was standing before him once again, alone and uninterrupted.

"I thought I would never see you again." It was Sakurai who spoke up first, with a surprisingly wistful tone that hinted at a longing not entirely unreciprocated.

"What did you do to me?" Masaki asked instead, genuine confusion in his eyes as he tilted his head slightly to the side. Perhaps Sakurai might hold the answer to all the questions that had been plaguing him incessantly?

Sakurai blinked, caught off-guard by the sudden question. "Do to you?"

"Yes!" With frustration thick in his voice, Masaki began recounting how he had passed his days. "I keep thinking about that— that night, and your face comes to mind when I least expect it, at the most random moments. I didn't hate your touch, and I still don't... is this normal when you first lay with a man? Is it because I'm not a real woman that it affects me this much? Should I—"

"Stop, stop," Sakurai cut in abruptly, a hand on his mouth for added insurance so he could not speak any further. To add onto Masaki's dismay at his untimely interruption, he began to chuckle, a soft noise that grew louder until it soon turned into full blown laughter.

"Is it funny to you?" Masaki demanded as he snatched his hand out of Sakurai's, cheeks flaming in anger and embarrassment. He should never have let his feelings overwhelm logic and follow Sakurai there like a lost puppy; rather than the answers he had been seeking, he received nothing but mocking laughter in response, each sound of amusement smarting like physical blows to his body. At least Jun would never laugh in his face like this. "This was such a mistake," he muttered as he turned to leave.

"No." Sakurai's hand shot out before he could even take a step forward, bring him to a halt and turning him back around to face him. "I'm sorry," he said seriously, but a smile still lingered at the corners of his mouth as he continued, "That wasn't what I meant at all. I was just overcome with delight."

Masaki eyed him with distrust. "I don't believe you."

"Allow me to answer your questions, Masaki." Sakurai had finally gotten his mirth fully under control, a look of solemnity on his face now as his fingers glided down Masaki's arm to reclaim the hand that had been jerked away from him moments before. "For one, I hadn't done anything to you which you hadn't already done to me."

"—eh?"

Sakurai ignored his interruption. "For another, no, that is not a normal reaction when a person has sexual intercourse with just anyone."

"So something's wrong with me after all?" Masaki asked with a look of defeat. He was about to inquire further - What could be done to cure him? _Can_ he even be cured? - when fingers against his jaw made him still, and his gaze flew to meet Sakurai's in surprise. "Sakurai-sama—"

"You called me Sho earlier," Sakurai chided lightly as he cupped Masaki's face in his hand with a warm smile. "You said you don't hate my touch, right?"

Sakurai leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips without waiting for a response, robbing him both of his breath and the answer he was about to give. Kisses, it occurred to Masaki suddenly, made for very effective silencers. "What was that for?" he asked when he finally recovered his voice, but he would have to wait for a response as Sakurai led him further into the room, towards the unkempt futon so inconsistent for a man who gave off an impression of scrupulous neatness.

Nevertheless, for all that he was still brimming with unanswered questions, Masaki didn't resist the hands that grasped his shoulders and silently urged him into lying down upon it. It was creeping up upon him again, that strange feeling; his heart was beating more quickly, and he couldn't seem to take his eyes off the man hovering above him. More and more, he was sure that Sakurai was not only the cause, but the one who held the key to unlocking the entire mystery. "Sho...?"

"Shh." Sakurai reached out began pulling Masaki's hair pins out one by one until his hair fell unbound about him, spilling out over the futon like a rippling cascade of black. They were set aside one by one safely out of the way before Sakurai turned his attention on the sash which bound the front of his kimono. Something small tumbled out to fall upon the white linen when he pushed it aside, and he picked up the very charm which he had given to Masaki, turning it over in his hands a couple of times as he looked down at it; it too joined the small collection of hair pins off to the side. "Do you still want to know the reason why all these things have been happening to you?"

Masaki nodded in silence, eyes wide with apprehension but nevertheless filled with determination.

"How do you feel when I do this?" As he spoke, Sakurai leaned down and brushed his lips over the bared skin peeking out just above the collar of his loosened robes. He traveled higher and higher, taking his time in leaving soft kisses along his neck until he reached his ear.

"...like it's not enough," Masaki admitted truthfully as he shifted beneath Sakurai's mouth, almost feeling as if the temperature in the room was rising just a little. Compared to the way Sakurai had behaved on the night of the banquet, it indeed didn't even come close to filling the growing void within him. "But what does that have to do w—"

"All the symptoms you mentioned, the same symptoms that I have been suffering from," Sakurai interrupted smoothly, sending shivers up Masaki's spine with each warm breath against his ear, "Are the signs of someone who has fallen in love."

"Love?" Masaki echoed, stunned. Not even the hand that had slipped beneath the folds of his clothing and began ghosting up over his stomach with less than pure intentions could pull him out of his turbulent thoughts. He had read of love in books, listened to older servants reminisce about past romances in their early days, but the concept always seemed strangely foreign to him, something he would only hear of but never actually experience. "I'm in love with you?"

"Enough with the talking now," Sakurai rebuked gently with a hint of impatience in his voice that hadn't been present before. He pulled back and began to untie the sash around his own waist. "We don't have the time to lay around discussing the finer points of our love for each other."

That was true, Masaki thought with a start; Jun had specified a maximum of three hours before he had to be back with the group at the theater, and they had already wasted a good portion of it. The alarming realization that they would have to be separated again in no time made him reach out instinctively for Sakurai, his arms slipping up around bare shoulders that were firm, muscular and so very different from his own lanky frame as their lips came together in another kiss.

It was very different from what he remembered. Sakurai was just as attentive as he had been during their previous experience, but every touch and every mark he left upon his body only fanned the flames of desire that much higher. Perhaps the most distinct difference between the encounters, his increased responsiveness notwithstanding, was his own forwardness. But Sakurai seemed to appreciate it, humming his approval with every kiss Masaki initiated, every awkward stroke of his fingers over his hardened member.

Their coupling on the night of the banquet had been spoiled by the circumstances that led up to it, and carried mostly memories of pain and little pleasure in comparison. While the pain was hardly absent this time around, the act in itself had become undeniably much more pleasurable for him. There was also an underlying sense of desperation throughout it all as they moved together as one, as if they were trying to commit the feel and taste of each other to memory. Masaki cried out with Sakurai's name when he hit the peak first, a low grunt of his own name next to his ear as Sakurai followed closely after.

They didn't part immediately once it was over, their sweat slicked bodies remaining pressed tightly together as their breath slowly evened out and their hearts stopped racing. The first ripples of sleep were beginning to wash over him when Sakurai stopped running his fingers through his hair and pushed himself up with a reluctance that was almost tangible. "You should dress soon."

Masaki blinked his eyes open and looked up at Sakurai, the confusion in his eyes slowly ebbing away as realization dawned and reality sent him crashing back down to earth. Without a word, he took the proffered hand with a nod and sat upright. Under Sakurai's watchful gaze, he gathered his robes to him and began to dress. It was always harder to do without help, especially without Jun there with his impeccable eye for detail to straighten a crooked collar here, a loose hair pin there. He was finished all too soon, looking perhaps a bit more tousled than before but not enough to rouse suspicion.

Sakurai had long since dressed as well and was waiting by the door for him when he was done, by all appearances ready to accompany him to the theater. Not knowing what to say to him, or if there was anything that needed to be said, Masaki ducked his head slightly and made to walk past him when the next words out of Sakurai's mouth rooted him to the ground.

"Leave with me."

Masaki stared at him disbelievingly, but Sakurai was being uncharacteristically evasive, keeping his head turned and his eyes pinned to a wall scroll across the room to avoid meeting his eyes. The silence stretched on for so long between them that he was beginning to doubt his own hearing.

"I'm being serious," Sakurai muttered as if he could hear Masaki's thoughts, sounding almost like a pouting young boy and not at all like the illustrious doctor who had saved countless lives - including his own - as he drew him into his arms. "I'll be leaving this place soon, for good. I want you to come with me."

Masaki stiffened instantly. "What?"

"I do." Sakurai's arms tightened around him. "I want to be with you."

A mix of emotions were hitting Masaki hard, all at once. Incredulity at the offer that seemed too good to be true, excitement at the prospect of shedding his days of pretense for good, but above all else—

"I can't." Though Masaki managed to extract himself from Sakurai's embrace while the other man was still stunned by his refusal, he couldn't shake off the iron grip on his arm. "You don't know what you're asking."

"Why?" Sakurai demanded. "You love me, and I love you. If you leave with me, you won't have to live that farce of a life you've been leading under the Shogun. You can _be_ yourself, Masaki!"

For an instant, Masaki was almost overcome with the impulsive desire to throw all caution to the wind and say yes. Visions of the life Sakurai had depicted and he himself had occasionally fantasized about danced before him tantalizingly, awaiting only a single nod from him to turn into reality.

In the end, he chose to shake his head with a sad smile. "Would I really be myself without Jun? Without my mother? Can I really live without ever coming into contact with those dearest to me ever again?" He shook his head again, privately proud of the way he was managing to rein in the urge to cry all through the conversation. Jun would be proud of him too, he was sure. "I don't know what love is. But if being in love makes you rash and selfish, I would rather never know what it is."

"So you're going to give up on us instead of leave the Ooku." Still visibly stung by Masaki's outright rejection, Sakurai's disbelief almost rivaled Masaki's earlier as he released his arm, the hopeful, almost eager look in his eyes that had been present just moments ago now replaced by a guarded expression. "You'll regret this. And by the time you do, it will be far too late to salvage."

"Yes. But I would rather be someone you can still respect than someone you may no longer love one day," Masaki told him simply, a wistful smile still playing about his lips as he dipped his head gracefully in a polite bow and left the room.

It was to be the last time, Masaki knew, that he would ever see Sakurai Sho again.

* * *

_Flickering cherry blossom bonfire  
Please convey my longing  
Though we chose different paths  
My heart is still calling for you_

 

The world will never stop turning for anyone. For every tear shed, a smile takes its place. For every death, there is a new birth. The circle of life will always stay the same.

The cherry blossoms seemed to understand this unspoken law as well, dutifully breaking off when their time had come to make way for their descendants to bloom the next year. It wouldn't be long before they emerged from those lifeless branches again, their arrivals first announced ahead of time by green leaves, then growing into tiny buds of pinkish white that would eventually unfurl into beautiful flowers.

Masaki and Jun also continued about their lives at the Ooku. They had grown beautiful, the other women occasionally gossiped to themselves. Somewhere along the way, unbeknownst to all of them, the two sometimes-boyish servants so cherished by Yukari had become adults. Masaki grew more and more withdrawn, preferring to be on his own than in the company of others. The only one he would permit most of the time was Jun, because he always stayed silent, sympathetic to the complex knot of feelings that had taken up residence within Masaki, so different yet so similar to his own.

No more was spoken between them of Sakurai; the last they had heard from Yukari, days after a disheveled and red-eyed Masaki had rejoined their group at the kabuki theater, he had returned home to the place he truly belonged. Jun had to draw his blanket up over his head that night in a half-hearted attempt to shut out the quiet sounds of crying beside him. As much as he longed to offer Masaki comfort, he knew it was no longer his place to do so. Neither him nor Yukari had any inkling of the actual details behind what had transpired between Masaki and Sakurai during those scant few hours, but Masaki didn't offer to divulge, and they knew not to ask. It was painfully obvious that Masaki had made a difficult decision in their favor, and that alone was more than enough.

It wasn't long before they were welcoming a new spring season, bringing with it the cherry blossoms that held memories far too painful to forget. On a particularly windy day, when every sudden gust of air sent petals into the air in a gentle pink shower, Masaki was visited by Yukari and brought back to her rooms.

"What is it did you want to give me?" Masaki asked. But she didn't respond immediately, instead returning to his side to reach for and raise one of his hands in hers. "...mother?"

"This came by courier today," Yukari said with a secretive smile that bordered upon delight as she pressed something into his palm. "I believe it is for you."

Masaki stayed standing still long after Yukari had excused herself from the room, staring down at the little cloth pouch identical to the one he had received over a year ago. On the other side of the open window, another breeze swept new petals into the room through the opening and left them to settle wherever they pleased. Oblivious to the added presence of dancing petals in the room, he touched the front of the charm with trembling fingers as a single cherry blossom petal fluttered gently into his hand.

 

_Flickering cherry blossom bonfire  
Our shadows overlap as they get closer  
My overflowing love will melt the snow  
And I'll finally get to see you  
And then... _

 

-END-


End file.
